Love's always there

I couldn't believe it, this was the first time he ever hit me. Sitting in the bathroom, I was propped up on the counter holding a ice pack to my right eye. Sobs shook me as I cried and I twisted around to look at myself in the mirror. I saw purple, black and blue through one tear-blurred eye; my other was swollen shut. Seeing it only made me cry harder. I coughed and gasped and heard a soft rap on the locked bathroom door.

"B-Bulma..." The voice was shaky, choked and frantic. It was Yamcha.

"Get out of here! Leave my house, NOW!" I screamed and burst into more sobs. I held the ice pack closer and cried out. I had pushed it too hard and my cheek began to throb like it had right after Yamcha first hit me.

"Please, Bulma. I'm so... ::sob:: ... I'm so sorry! Baby, please, open the door!" I could tell he was crying, but I didn't care. I was angry, upset, sad, disappointed, FURIOUS! My temper sizzled down as I wept in the bathroom, but my heart was in shambles. This only confirmed my earlier suspicions about Yamcha.

"I... I'm sorry. I can't take it back. I want to, Kami, how I wish I could!" Yamcha finally left hesitantly after my failures to respond to him. There was nothing to say. *He's out of the picture.* Yamcha had been drinking all that day, probably with some woman he picked up at his usual bar. I didn't see him until almost twelve that night. He had stumbled into my house, a drippy grin plastered on his face. I had stalked out of our room to 'greet' him downstairs. His eyes shifted back and forth uncertainly and his clothes were wrinkled and disheveled. I frowned deeply.

"Bulma-Chan! Don't you look marvelous!" Yamcha slurred to the coat rack. I tapped my foot impatiently and flung my hair over my shoulder.

"I'm over here, stupid!" Yamcha instantly frowned and turned to me. He got up real close, his nose inches from mine. I nearly gagged as he spoke, alcohol heavily perfumed on his tongue. But I did not change my stance; I would never back down to Yamcha.

"I told you never to call me that," he warned, wagging his finger in my face. I stuck my chin out defiantly as he started to stagger away.

"What's the matter, stupid? Am I hurting your feelings, you moron? Don't worry, I'm sure whatever slut you were out with all day will make you feel better!" Yamcha whirled on me. I remained, arms crossed, a hateful look pulling at my face.

"Watch yourself, woman!"

"BAKAMONO! Is that better, you stinking son of a bi...!!!" I never saw it coming. Yamcha balled his right fist and backhanded me. My head snapped violently to the left; red stars of pain burst in front of my eyes. I fumbled backwards, fell on my rear and gripped my face. I looked back at Yamcha. His eyes bulged, a mask of confusion, terror and shame washing over him. The first few tears rolled out of my eyes as I stood and backed away. He kept making these choked gurgling sounds in his throat and he reached for me. I jumped away and ran from him. I heard him shout my name as he ran after me. I skidded into the kitchen and quickly grabbed some ice, then proceeded to lock myself in the hallway bathroom.

"Ok..." I sighed. *What a fine mess.* I had stopped crying and turned back to the mirror. I lifted my bangs with a shaky hand and grimaced at the huge shiner that seemed to take up the entire right side of my face. I became angry again. With a jolt of determination, I stormed out of the bathroom and up the stairs to the room Yamcha and I would no longer be sharing. With a furious cry, I began opening dresser drawers and ripping Yamcha's clothes and belongings out. I threw them all in a heap in the middle or the floor. I stalked to the closet and flung everything of his out. I searched my room frantically. My eye caught a picture frame containing a picture of us. As I picked it up off my night stand and prepared to hurl it against the adjacent wall, I stopped myself before it was launched and smashed to bits. I brought it down slowly and looked at it. Instantly, tears welled back up in my eyes. Well, 'eye', anyway.

"Yamcha..." I whispered as I traced the frozen faces of him and myself. We were soaring down a road in his hot, new, red convertible. My arm was slung around his neck, his around my waist, and we were laughing. My hand was open in a wave. I remembered that day. That was the day Yamcha and I decided to live together. We were carting his stuff back and forth all day in that little car. He insisted on driving it; he wanted to show off.

I sank heavily down to the bed. Our bed. The frame slipped from my fingers and landed on the soft covers. I looked over my shoulder at his side of the bed. I grabbed his pillow and buried my face in it gently. I breathed him in, his scent, his smell. Musky, manly, but soothing. I brought the pillow away from my face and sighed once more. I glanced at his pile of stuff on the floor as if to ask, "What now?" His belongings didn't reply. My legs carried me to the storage closet right outside our door. Inside were trash bags and I stuffed his clothes and things into them. I secured them and let them tumble down the stairs in front of the house door, not really caring if I broke anything of his. *After all, he broke my HEART.*

I changed the sheets on our... MY bed before going to sleep. I left his pillow off, tucking it under the bed. On my way over to crawl into bed, I happened to glance out the window. *Vegeta.* The proud Prince was just a speck in the sky, but he was stationary. I could just make out his features. He was staring up at the full moon as if in a trance. *Boy, am I glad his tail's gone!* I shuddered, remembering the first time I had seen him on Baba's crystal ball. Funny, I had feared him then. Never did I expect to have him LIVING right by my house! A grinned a little, remembering THAT night. He and I hadn't spoken much since then, and that was three weeks ago. My guess was he was feeling pretty embarrassed that I had challenged him. Any acknowledge he made of me was a grunt.

I tucked myself into bed and clicked off the light. I settled under the covers and pulled them up all the way to my nose. I used to do that as a little girl when I was scared of the dark. It was weird how much lonelier and scarier the night was without Yamcha there. Many a time I turned over expecting to see him sleeping next to me. But all I saw was a soft indent in the mattress where he should've been. I was glad my parents were out for the weekend. I didn't want them to have seen or heard that awful confrontation.

"Oh, Yamcha. Things could have ended so much better than this."

* * * * *

The next morning I got up at seven. I didn't sleep very much the previous night. I brushed my hair slowly and tucked the left side behind my ear. The right fell in front of my eye, hiding the bruise nicely. I plodded down the stairs in my long geisha-print pajama pants and white tank top. I stifled a yawn that would've probably split my head in two had it not been suppressed. My right temple throbbed dangerously, forewarning of a migraine.

"Great..." I muttered and shuffled into the kitchen. My bare feet slapped against the cold linoleum and I went to click the light on. *Funny, it's on already. Mummy and Daddy shouldn't be back in town yet.* My left eye widened in surprise as I caught the form of a rather sweaty, rather cute Sayian bent in front of the open refrigerator. I knew he could hear me, but he was deciding to play dumb. *Well then!* I grinned mischievously as I yanked the drying towel off the dish rack, twisted it up tightly and whipped it at him. It stung him on the rear and he whirled around.

"Woman, what do you think you're doing!" Vegeta spat, jaws clenched and nostrils flaring angrily. I smiled; he wasn't mad at all, he was inwardly pleased I dared to stand up to him. And out of everyone, I was the only one who could actually get him to back down.

"Sure, help yourself to all the food in the house!" I said as I scanned the kitchen table. It was piled high with food. Vegeta snorted and bumped the fridge door shut with his hip.

"I'm out. Get to the store." He took a seat and began his tedious task of devouring. I rolled my eyes at him and looked inside the fridge: empty. The pantry: empty. I cried out, exasperated, and Vegeta pointed to the fruit bowl without looking up. I walked over to it. There was a single grapefruit inside. I picked it up in my hand and scowled.

"Gee, how thoughtful of you to save the one thing I HATE for me!" Vegeta grunted his welcomes and continued stuffing his face. I really loathed grapefruit. Mummy used to make me eat it when I was younger.

"It will make you beautiful, Bulma! Just like me!" she used to say. I laughed inwardly. I used to gag them down one after the other, believing that grapefruits would make me gorgeous. But I had to commend Mummy. She got me to eat them! I grabbed a knife and fork out of the silverware drawer to cut the grapefruit in half. I padded over to the cabinets and pulled out a plate. Vegeta was done eating and watched me intently. As I got up on my tiptoes to get the plate, my hair slipped back from my face. Vegeta tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow curiously. I placed the fruit on the plate and began cutting.

"Woman, what's wrong with your face?" he gruffed. I stopped cutting and bowed my head lower.

"Nothing, you jerk." I heard Vegeta scoot his chair back and he walked over to me. He took the silverware from me and placed them gently onto the counter. He took me by my shoulders and turned me to face him. When I did not look up, he shook me slightly and my head snapped up. The hair fell away and I looked painfully into his eyes. He wore an expression of shock which quickly shifted to anger.

"Who did this to you? Was it that chikusho, Yamcha? It was, wasn't it?!" Vegeta shouted. His hands tightened their grip on me and I felt my lungs crushing into my sides.

"Ve... ge... ta!" I wheezed and he instantly let me go. A growl purred low in his throat and he turned his attention to the door. I looked at him curiously, then followed his gaze. Moments later, a key rattled in the lock and the door slowly opened. It got stuck against the sacks of Yamcha's things. The person outside pushed hard and grunted. A bouquet of roses stuck their way through the crack in the door. A soft gasp escaped my mouth as Yamcha poked his head through the door. He groaned and squeezed through. He cried out loud as he saw his things lying on the floor. He lifted his head and his eyes met mine. I knew he saw Vegeta, but at the moment he didn't seem to care. The hand holding the roses dropped defeated to his side.

"Bulma..." Yamcha whispered. "This is... this is it, isn't it?" Tears sprang to my eyes, but I made myself control them as I nodded my head. I walked over to him, fully aware of Vegeta's hateful glares.

"Please, Bulma-Chan. Please, give me another chance! We can make this work, baby, we can..." I shook my head and placed a finger over his lips. A small tear ran down his face. I knew what he was thinking. *He blew it.* Yamcha began to get angry.

"This isn't over, Bulma." He shook the flowers at me. "It can't be over."

Vegeta snapped. "Get over it, Scar face!!!" he yelled and lunged for Yamcha, arm raised in a fist. Instinctively, I jumped in front of Yamcha.

"No, Vegeta!" I cried, squeezing my eyes shut and bracing myself for impact. Nothing came. I opened my good eye tentatively. Vegeta's fist was less than an inch from my face.

"Please, Vegeta-sama," I begged, addressing him formally. "Please, don't hurt him."

Vegeta growled and backed away, never taking his eyes off Yamcha. I turned around; the roses were on the floor. Yamcha was seething, wanting to smash Vegeta's face in, but knowing it was suicide to take him on. Instead, he stooped over and picked up two of the three trash bags. I got the other. I followed him silently out to his car. He had driven the red convertible. I plopped the bag in the back seat with the others. Yamcha stood, his back to me. His head hung low and the keys jangled in his hand. I touched him gently on the arm and hugged him tightly from behind.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, a tear running from my eye and soaking onto the back of his shirt. His hand gripped mine and squeezed. He never once turned around to look at me as he drove off. I stood in the wake of his car, dust floating up around me.

* * * * *

I sighed in bed. My reading glasses were pushed to the end of my nose. My bedside lamp was on and I yawned. *Stay awake, Bulma. You have to finish this book!* I resumed my reading. The ending reminded me of mine and Yamcha's: full of tears, regret and bitterness. I sighed louder and shut the book. *That was two months ago. I can't believe it; two months without Yamcha.* I stretched and the bed shook with my movement. I glanced at the clock: 2 am. I pulled my glasses off gently and tossed them on the night stand. The bruise on my eye was long since gone, but it was still tender, as was my heart. But it was healing.

"Woman, you mind turning off the light or are you scared of the dark?" I jerked my head over, agitated, to face the back of Vegeta.

"Yea, yea," I grumbled and slapped Vegeta on the rear. He grunted and rolled over to face me as I clicked off the light and settled under the covers.

"I'll make you pay for that, brat," he rasped. He pulled me to him and snuggled his face in the crook of my neck. I smiled and stroked his back, right above the spot where his tail once was. I felt the vibration of his purr on my shoulder.

"I'm looking forward to it," I giggled and kissed my Prince's forehead. His chest rose and fell heavily with his breathing. *Yes, Bulma. It was time to move on.* I fell asleep happily as I remembered how good it was to finally be able to call this 'our bed' again.

~the end~